


In Close Quarters

by Mack_the_Spoon, Namarie



Series: Bloodlines [9]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mack_the_Spoon/pseuds/Mack_the_Spoon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namarie/pseuds/Namarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liz and Ressler face unique challenges adjusting to life on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of our 'Bloodlines' AU, taking place after 'All The Truth Unwinding'. If you'd like to catch up on the whole series, a master list of the timeline of the stories can be found [here](http://namarie24.livejournal.com/120242.html).
> 
> (And in case anyone was worried after our last entry, this one is definitely Keenler and shouldn't be quite as sad!)

~~~~~~

A very posh hotel in Casablanca was where the whole group ended up next. Liz looked forward to the chance to be a tourist in the city once she'd gotten over jet lag. Meanwhile, though, she was content to stay in the luxurious suite Red had picked out for her and Don. Or at least, she had been content, before she realized that she would have to spend the next seven days basically hiding in her room because it was her season and she had no option to leave or make Don leave.

He went all out to try to make it less difficult, though. The afternoon of her first full day in a separate room from him, he sent her a text. She picked up her phone to see his suggestion of a TV channel to watch. As she was reaching for the remote, the phone chimed again: 'I promise I just thought it's a cute movie, that might help pass the time. But I am watching it, whether you choose to join me or not.'

Now she was very curious. She sat down, flipped on the TV, and changed it to the channel he had said. Then she scoffed, and dialed his number. “I'm sure this hotel's cable package has an extensive variety of channels. And you pick this? I'm trying to decide what I should read into your choice.”

She heard him chuckle. “Maybe it doesn't mean anything. I told you, I just thought it might help pass the time.”

“Highly suspicious, Ressler.”

“I give you my word that I'm not watching this movie for a guide to my own behavior.”

Narrowing her eyes, she gave a theatrical sigh. “Good.” Then, after a few minutes of watching, she said, “It is a cute movie. Tom and I saw it on DVD when it came out, before... before everything.” The movie had just started.

“One thing I don't get is why these guys all sound Scottish, when they're supposed to be Vikings,” her partner remarked, after a pause.

She still wished she could actually be next to him, but this was almost as good. “Well, you know: Scotland, Scandinavia, it's pretty much the same,” she said. Don was amused as she actively rooted for the dragons, even before the start of the friendship between the hero of the movie and his dragon pal. “You have to admit, they're more interesting than most of the humans in the story.”

“Oh, I have to admit that, do I?” She heard the smile in his voice.

“Mmhmm,” she said. The main dragon in the movie was a lot more like a cat than any real dragon, but she still enjoyed most of the movie, and didn't fall asleep even though she was drowsy.

“So,” said Don, once the credits started to roll, “not a scientifically accurate movie, huh?” They had kept their phones out the whole time, even though there had been long periods where they were just watching without speaking to each other. She heard some rustling, and assumed he was moving – maybe turning off his TV.

She huffed out a breath. “Not so much. I'll admit I really wish the fire-breathing thing wasn't all myth.” She found the remote and turned her own set off.

“Yeah, I guess that could come in handy.”

“Anyway,” she said, yawning, after another pause, “right now, this dragon of yours who does not require any training is going to go take a nap. But thanks for the suggestion. It did help.”

“I'm glad,” he said. “And you know you can still talk to me anytime.”

“I know,” she told him. As she hung up and went to her bedroom, she reflected that this voluntary segregation was still going to be bizarre and lonely, but they would make it work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short previous chapter! It just ended up making sense to break it up that way. This one will be a more normal length.

~  
Morocco  
Three days post-Connolly

When Ressler woke up the morning after their arrival (or at least he thought it was morning, based on the light coming in at the edges of the curtains), the other side of the bed was empty. He blinked, trying to clear his jet-lagged brain and really wake up. “Liz?”

“In here,” she called back, from the suite's main room. “You want something to eat? I ordered room service.”

Ressler sat up and yawned. “Coming.”

When he walked into the other room, Liz was sitting at the table, a plateful of partially-eaten eggs in front of her and her hands around a mug of something that smelled like tea. Tea. He no longer felt sleepy as he remembered what she had said a few days ago, in Guatemala, before everything had hit the fan. He stared at the mug for a second, then met her gaze. “Is that--?”

“No,” she said, with a wry half-smile. “That would be a day early. It's just mint tea, which is a local traditional favorite, apparently.” She jerked her head toward the couch. “Although Red came by about fifteen minutes ago with a delivery of chamomile for me. Didn't say anything but that he thought I might need it, and then left.”

Don saw the boxes on the couch. He tried to process all of this, and finally said, “What time is it?”

“A little after nine thirty.” She took a sip of the tea. “I didn't want to wake you.”

He nodded, and sat down across from her at the table. While he took a helping of eggs for his own plate, as well as some fruit and toast, he cleared his throat and said, “So when you say Reddington left, do you mean for the week?”

“He'll be nearby,” said Liz, “but yes. We probably won't be seeing him.” Her voice was level and gave nothing away. She hadn't made a move to eat any more of her food.

There was a pause, and then he sighed. “Look, I don't want to-- to make you uncomfortable, but I need to ask: since it's just the two of us here, do I need to go somewhere tomorrow? Or do you? Because I know how it's supposed to work, but in this case I don't like that idea. Neither of us know this city, and I can't-- we can't look out for each other if we're separated.”

“That's what I've been trying to decide,” she said, and this time he heard the uncertainty in her voice. “I don't … know the rules in this kind of situation. But I don't want us to be separated in a strange place, either.”

“Then let's not. No one else needs to know, anyway.” He took a bite of his breakfast, and then realized she didn't look satisfied with that answer. “What? What's wrong?”

To his alarm, he saw she looked like she was about to cry. “I-- I've never been in close proximity with you, while I'm in season,” she said, sniffing and wiping her hand across her cheeks. “Even with the tea, I don't know what that will be like. For either of us. And...” She took a ragged breath, and her expression when she looked at him was heartbreaking. “Don, we don't know where we'll be living in the next few weeks, much less nine months. If something happens...”

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, standing up and going around to her side of the table. She didn't pull away, so he put his arms around her. “We can get separate but adjoining rooms, if you want. It's only for a week, right? I bet we can manage staying out of each other's way most of the time for that long.” Honestly, he knew it would be an adjustment, after having been with her for so much of each day and night for so long. And if she really thought they couldn't even interact face-to-face, then it would be lonely and dull for both of them. But if that was what she felt like she needed, he could do it.

Sniffing again, Liz nodded and leaned against him. “You're right,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “I'm sure you're right. Sorry for freaking out. I just...”

“This whole thing – it's going to take us a while to figure out,” he said. “It's still only been a few days since we left the US. We're entitled to some freaking out, I think.”

She laughed a little and pulled away. “You make a compelling point.” She didn't look entirely reassured, but the rest of their meal passed fairly normally.

At Liz's request, Ressler found out from the hotel that the room adjoining their current one was currently unoccupied. They offered no protest or comment when Ressler said he and Liz would be taking that room as well. Liz said she'd move her things that evening.

The rest of the day was, if not exactly relaxed, not too painfully awkward, either. The two of them took a walk in the neighborhood of their hotel; neither of them wanted to stray too far, but they did want to get some fresh air and a change of scenery. They happened across a little cafe at around the time they wanted to eat lunch, and the food there was nice.

On their way back to the hotel, Don's phone chimed to tell him he had a new email. He didn't recognize the sender, but the subject line was, “To keep you busy during the next week.” And there were only a very few people who knew about this email address at all, so he had a good guess as to who it was from.

“What is it?” Liz asked, when he didn't keep walking right away.

“Pretty sure it's from Reddington,” he told her. “I'll have to look at it when we get back to our room.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, now I'm curious to know what it's about, too.”

It turned out to be a compilation of recent news articles about the disappearance of the previously-unknown daughter of international criminal Raymond Reddington and a KGB agent named Katarina Rostova. The vast majority of the coverage centered on the alleged collusion between former FBI agent Elizabeth Keen, alias Masha Rostova, and one or both of her notorious parents. She was held up as an ideal candidate to be a Russian sleeper agent, fortunately discovered before her plans were put into action. But Ressler noted, even as he got angrier and angrier scrolling through the articles, that very few of them had anything concrete to offer as evidence of this collusion. Many of the most recent ones did, however, mention that she was also the only suspect in the murder of former US Assistant Attorney General Thomas Connolly, himself a fugitive from the law after his crooked business dealings were revealed just before his appointment to Attorney General. Some of the articles suggested the two of them had both been involved in shady dealings, up to and including treason. Several mentioned her in connection with the disappearance of another FBI agent, as well: Donald Ressler.

At the end of the email, Reddington had included a short message. It read:

_Donald,  
I realize you're no doubt angered by these largely baseless accusations being leveled against Elizabeth in the media. The lies and the spin are, of course, infuriating. However, as her lieutenant, as you well know, it is your job to stay aware of what kinds of threats she faces. This must now include keeping current on the lies the Cabal feeds the US government regarding her crimes, and what specific sectors or figures in the DOJ, etc., are searching for her. I included this sampling of articles as a model of what kinds of things you'll need to look for in the next several months. My organization's resources are also mobilized and available._

_Do not hesitate to contact me if you have questions._

It was unsigned, but the signature was not necessary. Don sat back in the desk chair with a sigh. Liz had gone into the bedroom to pack the few things she had unpacked when they arrived, so she hadn't been reading over his shoulder this whole time. That was probably a good thing. On the other hand, there was no way she was going to let him keep this information from her.

At that moment, she came back into the room. “So what did Red say?”

Ressler closed the laptop and turned to face her. “He … wanted to remind me that I need to keep current on what the media's saying about you and him,” he said reluctantly. “So I know more specifically what kinds of threats we're up against.”

Her expression became closed-off and she nodded. “I see. And so you read some news articles.”

“I skimmed through them, mostly,” he said. He tried to relax his hands and his jaws and his shoulders, but everything was tense. “Nothing too unexpected, but it's not pleasant reading, either. I, uh, don't necessarily recommend you read it...”

Liz gestured toward the laptop. “Don, just give it here,” she said, sounding resigned. “I need to stay informed, too.”

“Fine.” He passed her the computer, and then walked with her to the bed. But when he stood behind her, she shot him an annoyed look, so he held up his hands and went back to the desk chair.

Having nothing else to do, Ressler watched her as she scrolled through the news articles. Her expression got more and more remote as she read. She shut the laptop with more force than necessary when she was done, and stood up. “The 'perfect Russian sleeper agent'?” she muttered. Her voice rose. “And colluding _with_ Connolly?”

“I told you it wasn't a fun read.” He took the computer back and set it on the desk. “But I guess we're informed now.”

“Hmm.” She took a deep breath. “I'm going to take a shower.”

That night, having moved her few belongings into the adjoining room, Liz came back into what had been their room. “If all we do is sleep tonight, I can stay here one more night,” she said.

She was standing close enough to him that it would be very easy for him to kiss her. But the jet lag, plus the very good reasons why that would not be a good idea, helped Don restrain himself to laying a hand on her cheek. “Okay.”

Thankfully, when they lay down to sleep, it came quickly for both of them. And when Liz woke him up at a jetlag-induced early hour of the morning, apologizing quietly as she slipped out of the bed, Don just watched her go. Then, once he heard the door between their rooms click shut, he groaned and turned over. He already missed her. This was going to be harder than he thought.

The first day of their separation passed reasonably quickly. Don got some work done in the morning, mining the news articles that Reddington had sent as well as others that he found for actual useful intel on the investigation and search for the fugitives. He ignored the various theories as to what Liz and Reddington had done with him (to his surprise, not very many of them seemed to know the truth of his relationship with her).

In the afternoon, Don was flipping through channels and found a movie he'd seen before – many years ago, before he knew anything about the world of dragons. He smiled as an idea formed. To his delight, when he texted Liz about it, she seemed amused by the idea. So they ended up watching _How To Train Your Dragon_ together, in separate rooms, each of them offering their own commentary as they did so.

It was the evening and the night that were the most difficult. In the past, he had been used to eating dinner alone most evenings, and sleeping alone as well, once Audrey was gone. But that had been years ago. Years that were full of Liz. It turned out he was no longer used to sleeping by himself. And with insomnia came the usual kinds of nighttime thoughts that were the very opposite of relaxing. Memories, good and bad, kept his mind awake first. Then it was worries about the future.

He wondered if any of them would, in fact, be able to clear Liz's name of the crimes she hadn't committed. He wondered if he and Liz would be able to keep working through this and find some stability together. And speaking of stability, there was the whole issue of his dreams – their shared dreams – of a family. Was that even in the cards at all now?

Just then, he felt a jolt of terror and heard a muffled shriek. He sat up. “Liz!” He was on his feet and running for her room before he remembered the reason they weren't together right now. “Liz? Are you all right?”

 _I'm … I'm fine_ , she said. She sounded embarrassed. _Just a bad dream, accentuated by my season. Sorry I woke you._

“Don't worry about it,” he replied, hoping his normal speaking voice was loud enough for her to hear, or that she would pick up his thoughts. He didn't want to yell again. “I wasn't really asleep anyway. Jet lag.” That wasn't the full story, but it did contribute.

_Okay. Goodnight._

“Goodnight.”

Don reckoned, the following morning, that he had gotten maybe three hours of sleep. He was tired and cranky, and therefore almost glad he didn't have the chance to snap at Liz. But then she texted a 'Good morning' as he was preparing to order breakfast, and he smiled a little as he sent his greeting in reply. 'You sleep all right after we talked?'

'Sort of. Not too bad. You?'

'Let's just say it might be a good thing you're not here right now.'

There was a pause, and then she texted back, 'Ouch. Sorry.'

'I'll live,' he told her. 'They have good coffee here.'

'That's true.'

The rest of that day passed far too slowly. There wasn't much more research and preparation he could do as Liz's bodyguard; he had already done most of the groundwork yesterday. And nothing on TV was particularly appealing today. He watched a few minutes of an international news station's recap of the latest games and matches in the world of sports, but that only held his attention for twenty or so minutes.

Somehow, the day went on – in painstaking, dull increments. The two of them checked in on each other periodically via text or telepathy (on Liz's part). They chatted a little bit about lunch options, when that time came, and also decided they would trade off making use of the suite's shared balcony once the day started to cool down. But she said they would need to be careful that they weren't both out there at the same time. Ressler still couldn't help wondering if all this was really necessary – if this thing that happened to Liz every year really had the potential to, well, make them both act like they had no control over themselves. But he wasn't going to push it. This was the second day. They could last five more days.

By the third day, he wasn't quite so sure – and that was even before the near-miss. He had just ordered his breakfast (at least there were enough room service options that weren't too strange for him to want to try), and since it was early enough that it would still be nice and cool outside, he decided he would go out on the balcony for a few minutes. He walked over to the sliding glass door, composing a text to Liz as he did so. Then he looked up. She was already out there, holding a mug in her hands.

At first, he didn't notice anything strange. She was facing away from him, looking out over the city. She was wearing a light blouse and loose-fitting capri pants – a normal outfit for this climate. She looked good, not that that was a surprise. He had missed these chances to just see her, these past couple of days.

Then she turned so he could see more of her, and Don swallowed hard. She was stunning. Breathtaking. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He wanted very much to open the door and go to her, put his hands on her, but he knew there was some reason he shouldn't. But he wasn't going to leave, either.

She turned to face him, then, and her eyes widened as they met his gaze through the glass. Then they traveled over him, slowly. He swallowed again. What had been that reason – that really good reason – for them to stay apart? It was impossible for him to remember.

At that moment, room service knocked on his door, announcing the arrival of his breakfast. Ressler jumped about six inches and tore himself away from the view outside his door. “I--” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I'll be right there, thanks.” God. He sounded... He absolutely could not let himself recall the last time he'd sounded like this, because if he did, he'd also have to recall...

Brusquely, Don walked over to the door to receive his meal. By the time he had thanked the man and shut the door behind him, he had only just started to be able to think about anything else, other than Liz. He rubbed his hands across his eyes and stared at the covered tray of food. He had already taken a shower this morning, but another one was going to be necessary. With cold water. Hopefully his food would still be edible afterward.

As he headed toward the bathroom, his phone chimed. He picked it up to read a one-word message from his partner: 'Sorry.'

'Not your fault,' he sent back. 'But … I definitely believe you now.' He didn't wait for a response before he stepped into the shower.

When he was finished, and getting dressed, Don looked at his phone again. She had sent him another message. 'Yeah. I'll be in the workout room. I have my phone.'

Chuckling ruefully, Ressler sat down to his cold French toast and eggs. That was another option to keep in mind, he supposed.

They didn't speak to each other until that evening, after dinner. Don had spent most of the intervening hours lost in thought, unable to turn off his brain even long enough to drop off during the hours the jetlag hit him hardest. He needed interaction, and while he had been firmly convinced of the wisdom of it not being face-to-face, he didn't see the need to limit it to texting, either. So he picked up his phone – just in time to see her name light up on the screen.

“I was just about to call you,” he said after he answered.

She huffed a laugh. “Going stir-crazy, too?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” He decided they should get the awkwardness out of the way first. “So, uh, it wasn't just me who got a little more than I bargained for this morning, right?”

“No, you're right, it wasn't. That was … surprising.” She cleared her throat. “I thought the tea was supposed to do the trick, and it normally does, but I don't know. Maybe it's different when we're in close proximity, since we've already been in a relationship for a long time.”

Don thought about that. “You could be right.” And wasn't that just extra convenient?

There was a pause, and then Liz said, “I did learn something from this morning, though.” Her voice had taken on a teasing tone, and Don gripped the phone tighter as he asked what that was. “I was just thinking, now that I kind of have an idea what to expect, whenever the time comes that we decide not to be separated during this week of the year … it's going to be fun.”

Groaning, Don stood up and went to look out the sliding door again, at the unoccupied balcony. “Liz...”

“Sorry.” But she only sounded a little bit apologetic.

“Seriously, you're going to have to change the subject unless you want me to have to take a turn in the workout room now,” he said. He had been hoping to talk with her for a little longer, at least. Since talking was all they could do.

“Okay, okay,” she said, and sighed.

They talked for a while longer – mercifully, about other subjects. Then they said goodnight, and Don started to get ready for bed, with some trepidation. But thought it took him a while to fall asleep, he did sleep, and solidly, for most of the night.  
~


	3. Chapter 3

~

Three days later, Don was so completely done with this whole separation thing. There hadn't been a repeat of the balcony incident (they were both too careful now for that to happen), but that didn't mean it was a whole lot easier not to see Liz, or speak to her other than over the phone and occasionally through the door of their suite. Plus, he was bored, and he knew she was, too. There just weren't that many good movies on the TV, and only so many hours either of them could spend in the exercise room before that got old, as well. And although he was glad of this, there had been little to no movement on any of the inquiries he'd put in place regarding the people who were hunting Liz. That meant, again, that there wasn't much he could do in the way of his job.

He had just finished his latest stint on the treadmill in the exercise room that afternoon, and texted Liz that he was on his way back. That was when he saw a figure dart around the corner at the other end of the hallway – a figure that looked nothing like any of the hotel staff they had come across.

Instantly, Don put the phone away and went for his gun, hurrying to put his back against the wall. He moved forward as quickly and quietly as possible. Of course there was the chance that this was some poor busboy dressed in something other than the hotel uniform for some reason, in which case he was going to scare the guy to death and have to do some fast talking afterward. But he wasn't going to assume that was the case.

When he got to the corner, Ressler paused for a second, then stepped around, his gun at the ready. At first, he didn't see anyone – but then he saw the door to the stairwell swing shut the last few inches. Swearing under his breath, he prepared to head after him. It made him nervous to leave Liz, though. Especially when she likely didn't know anything was going on.

He pulled out his phone and called her as he walked to the door to the stairs. “Liz,” he said in a low voice, as soon as she picked up, “someone who shouldn't be here, who I didn't recognize, just left this floor and went into the stairwell. I'm going after him. You need to stay where you are.”

She took in a sharp breath. “I'm getting my gun right now, and locking the door.” He heard faint rustling. “Please be careful.”

“Yeah.” He hung up, and then entered the stairwell almost at a run. The man had just opened the door to the second story, but he looked up at the sound of Ressler's approach. His eyes widened, and he let the door fall shut as he continued to dash down the stairs.

Glad that he was wearing his running shoes, Ressler increased his own speed. As the dark-haired man made it to the ground floor, Ressler shouted, “Hey! Stop!” In another lifetime, he would have added a shout of, “FBI!” But instead, he just kept running toward his quarry.

He caught up with the guy outside the fire exit (the alarm didn't sound, for which Ressler was simultaneously grateful and irritated). When the younger man realized he had turned down a dead end and wasn't going to get away, he stopped and raised his hands. He turned to face Ressler with an expression of terror on his face. “Please!” he cried, trembling. “Don't-- don't shoot!”

Don slammed the guy against the wall of the alley, quickly checking him for weapons with one hand and finding nothing more than a pocket knife. He put the knife into his own pocket. “Move,” he snapped, dragging the man further into the alley and away from any possible spectators. “And keep quiet.” He was still holding his gun on the guy, but the adrenaline was starting to fade just a little. There didn't seem to be an immediate threat.

“Okay, here's how this is going to go,” Don said, staring into his captive's wide eyes. “You're going to tell me what the hell you were doing on our floor of the hotel, and if you do that, I probably won't shoot you.”

The young man gulped. “I-- I thought I recognized … someone.” His English was accented, but very understandable.

“Really? Who? From where?”

“A couple of days ago, I was outside on my balcony. It's across from this place.” The guy's eyes went from Ressler's face to the barrel of the gun again. “I thought I saw a woman who was in the news a few months back. She was standing out on one of the balconies on, uh, your floor of the hotel.”

Ressler fought to keep from slamming the guy into the wall again. “What woman?”

“It looked like it could have been Elizabeth Keen. The woman wanted by the FBI.”

That was what he was afraid the guy would say. Before Ressler could decide what to do in response, Liz contacted him. _Ressler? You all right?_

He told her as best he could what had happened. She was silent for a few seconds. _Bring him up here_ , she said at last. _I'll make sure he doesn't remember seeing me._

Although he was immediately concerned about how this handoff was going to go when he himself would have to avoid looking at her, Ressler made sure she knew he agreed with this plan. Then he refocused his attention on the man, who was watching him anxiously. “What are you going to do with me?”

“Turn around,” Ressler ordered, stepping back to give him a little bit of space. When he had done so, Ressler pulled out a zip tie from the stash he now always kept with him, and tied the man's wrists. “To answer your question, I'm going to take you back upstairs so you can meet Elizabeth Keen in person.”

“What?” the man gasped. “But-- why?!”

“She can tell you that herself.”

With that, Ressler marched the guy back into the building. No one else was in the stairwell on the way back to the fourth floor, although he did catch a glimpse of someone passing by the door to the third floor as he went past. The guy tried to make a break for it then, but only got a few yards away before Ressler caught up to him again and brought him to the ground. “Don't do that again, all right?” he suggested, pulling the man up and then dusting himself off. “I don't really want to hurt you, but I sure wasn't very comfortable just then, so I'm guessing you weren't, either.”

Coughing, the man nodded.

Don brought the man to Liz's door, and knocked. “He's here. Do you want me to just--?”

“If you take a few steps back, it should be fine,” she cut in, her voice muffled through the door.

The young man turned to look at Don over his shoulder, obviously both confused and alarmed. “Look, I, I promise I won't tell anyone,” he said. “Please.”

“No, you won't,” agreed Don, stepping back until he would be out of Liz's line of sight. “Whenever you're ready, Liz,” he called out.

The door opened, and Don watched the young man (he hadn't even gotten the guy's name) go from terrified to compliant when Liz ordered him to come into her room in a voice that resonated. Don waited until Liz had shut the door, and then he exhaled and went into his own room. He'd been hoping for a shower before all of this had even started. Now he hoped he'd have time before Liz needed him for anything. That is, if he could convince himself to go back inside his room first. He shook his head to clear it.

He was just getting dressed after the shower when Liz said, _Okay, you can escort Mr. Hassan out of the building when you're ready._

Ressler let her know he'd be right there. It would have to be another fairly awkward handoff, and he would have to remind himself to stay focused on the task at hand when he heard her speak with no barriers between them, but it would work.

The man left Liz's room upon Ressler's announcement that he was there and ready. He stood in the doorway and stared at Ressler blankly. “He's all yours,” came Liz's voice, from out of sight. “He'll do what you say until you're out of the hotel.” Ressler noted that his wrists were no longer tied.

“Well, come on,” Ressler said, and the man followed him. He was totally silent the whole way out of the building. That was more than a little eerie, Ressler thought.

When they walked out (using the front entrance this time), Mr. Hassan's expression cleared, and then he looked around in faint confusion. His glance passed over Don, who had stepped away from him a few feet, without a hint of recognition. Then Hassan muttered something under his breath and walked down the hotel steps, leaving the place behind.

With a sigh of relief, Don turned around and went back into the building, nodding at the front desk manager as he did so. He wondered whether he needed to contact Reddington, ask him for another place to stay while they were still in Morocco. This Hassan guy was not going to be a problem any more – he was sure Liz had taken care of that – but that didn't mean he was the only one who had recognized Liz.

When he got back to his room and called Liz, it wasn't too surprising to hear she had been thinking along the same lines. “Mr. Hassan told me he didn't tell anyone else about his suspicion that he'd recognized me,” she said, “but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be cautious in how we move forward.”

“So do we need to call your father?”

She sighed. “I guess we could at least find out what his surveillance people have to say.”

“Okay.” Ressler hesitated. He knew she disliked being handled, but since this wasn't going to be a social call, it should be up to him. “I'll go ahead and call him, and let you know what he says, all right?”

After a moment, she said, “Yeah, go ahead. I'll be waiting to hear from you.”

When Dembe passed the phone to Reddington, Ressler heard a note of worry in the man's voice. “Donald, is there a problem?”

“We're not totally sure,” he replied, then gave him a quick summary of the day's excitement. “Liz is sure this guy didn't share his suspicion with anyone else, but we thought we would check in with you and your people, too, to find out if you've heard any chatter.”

The other man was quiet for a few seconds. “There's been nothing out of the ordinary on my end,” he said at last. “I'll check in detail, and call you back. In the meantime, though, please remain in your rooms. Just to be safe.”

“Got it.”

It was only a few minutes later that his phone rang. Reddington said, “Everything looks to be fine. However, as a precaution, I have another hotel that I recommend you switch to once Elizabeth's season is over. That means you'll have to remain extra vigilant until then.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “I assume you'll call again at the end of the week to let us know where the other hotel is.”

“Yes.” Reddington took a breath. “Well done today, Donald. I'll be in touch soon.” The call ended.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Don called Liz to report what her father had said. She sounded all right with his suggestion of a move as soon as it was less of a trial to do so. “And Don – thanks,” she finished, in a quiet voice.

“Yeah.” He was just glad he had seen the threat in time to stop it, even with the distractions of this week.  
~


	4. Chapter 4

~~~~~~

Liz had seen more of the world in the past three weeks since fleeing with Red than in her entire life up to that point. In some ways, it was exciting, and fascinating. She knew that the change of scenes helped a little, too, in giving her something to think about other than what she'd left behind, and what she'd done. But, as she had known it would, the uncertainty of this lifestyle, plus the feeling of relying on Red for absolutely everything, was starting to wear her down. She was having trouble summoning enthusiasm for being introduced to another new culture, climate, and language. And she knew her partner wasn't having much fun, either, though he didn't come out and say it.

Red asked to take her to lunch on the twenty-second day of her life as a fugitive. “Lizzie, I know you're unhappy,” he said, after they'd ordered their food at the cafe in Istanbul. “I know this is overwhelming for you. For Donald, too, though he does an admirable job of trying to distract himself by focusing on your needs. But that's not healthy for either of you.”

Liz swallowed, and looked down at her lap. “No,” she said quietly. She hadn't been very hungry before this, and the topic of conversation, necessary as it was, wasn't helping.

“I won't plan all the details of your life, though I know I'm responsible for its current state,” he went on, eyes dark. “If I offer you some suggestions, however, I would be gratified if you would think about them, and discuss them with Donald.”

“What kind of suggestions?” She was starting to think anything was better than this constant uprooting and relocating, without anything constructive to do with her time except receive the very occasional update on the state of her organization.

“Locations where you could stay for longer periods of time, matched up with ideas for how you could spend your time in each place.” He paused, as their drinks arrived. When the waiter was gone again, he went on, “Of course you and I both know that, should you wish, you would never have to work again. But we also both know you can't bear idleness for long.”

Liz nodded, taking a sip of the flavored yogurt drink Red had recommended. It was delicious, and she told him so with a brief smile. Then she went back to the issue at hand. “So. Are these ideas all written down somewhere, or am I going to need to memorize them?”

He handed her a flash drive. “No memorization required. But feel free to ask me any questions you may have.”

Their food arrived after she had pocketed the stick. As little as she knew what to expect of Red's ideas, it was encouraging to have some progress toward something that might resemble normalcy. She was able to enjoy her meal more than she'd thought she might.

Later, at their current hotel, Liz loaded the file onto her laptop and scrolled through them. Ressler wasn't back yet from wherever he'd gone for lunch – he'd said he was making a phone call, as well. Though she was curious, he had seemed preoccupied, so she'd decided to wait until afterward to ask about it. Meanwhile, she read through the document. It was less detailed than she had feared – Red really did seem to be doing his best not to micromanage. She pondered each of them, though some stood out as more interesting.

By the time Don got back, she was impatient to see what he would think. But one look at his face drove the idea from her head. She shut the laptop, stood, and went to him. “Don, what's wrong?”

He drew a breath slowly, raggedly, and she felt the anguish radiating from him. “My – my mom died.”

She put a hand to her mouth. “What? How – what happened?”

He sat down on the couch, staring straight ahead. “Reddington actually told me this morning that he'd heard she was in the hospital, and that his people had found a way for me to call.”

Her eyes widened. She sat down next to him. “And, uh, were you able to talk to her?” With a sudden, sharp pain, she remembered her last phone call with Sam. God, to have had the chance to speak to him one last time, to know if he would have been proud of her...

Now he bowed his head, and a tremor went through him. “No,” he whispered, then cleared his throat. “She was gone before I called.”

Wordlessly, Liz put her arms around him and gently pulled him to her chest. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered.

He clung to her for a minute, breathing with difficulty. “It was pneumonia. That doesn't even make sense. People shouldn't be able to die from pneumonia in the twenty-first century.”

Liz's heart squeezed. “Yeah.”

After a moment, he moved back from her, and wiped a hand under his eyes. “I talked to my dad, though. For ten minutes, which was about as long as Reddington said would be safe.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

He shook his head. “I don't know, Liz. He's in shock, and he doesn't understand where I am, or why I left. And I didn't have much of an explanation that I could give.”

The lump in her throat grew bigger. Of course he couldn't say much, and anything he could say wouldn't have been satisfying. She had only met his dad once, when Don's parents had both been in town for a few days. His mother and father had seemed to like her all right, but that had been before she turned their son into a federal fugitive. “I'm sorry,” she said again, barely audible this time.

“Come on, Liz, don't make this about you,” Ressler snapped, and stood up to stalk off toward the suite's kitchenette. Maybe he wanted a drink.

Liz sat frozen on the couch for a full minute. She couldn't apologize again, apparently, without irritating him. And, lest she be irritated in turn by that fact, he was right that this was about his grief, not her guilt. “You're right, it's not about me,” she said. “So, I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want.” She stood and went toward the bedroom.

“Wait.” His voice stopped her before she'd taken more than a few steps. She turned, and his expression was enough to bring tears to her own eyes. “That's not what I want. I – I'm sorry.”

She shook her head. “You don't have to apologize.”

This time, he was the one to close the distance between them. He stopped short a foot away from her and met her gaze. “I thought I'd want to be alone, but I don't.”

“You won't be,” she promised, her heart aching again at the rawness of the admission. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

So she stayed with him, while he first cried and then sat in silence. After a while, he sat up straight and ran a hand over his face. “I need something else to do. I need to stop thinking about how I can't even go to her funeral.”

Liz nodded. Even if he didn't want her apology, she knew she would carry this guilt for a long time. “Well, as it turns out, I do have something I wanted to talk to you about. Something Red showed me today.”

“Good. Let me see,” he said, voice hoarse.

She opened up the laptop again and turned the screen toward him. “These are ideas he's had for our next step. For places where we could live more permanently, and work.”

He looked interested, but skeptical. “And what did you think of them?”

“Some of them sounded promising,” she said. “Take a look.” She hadn't made any edits or rearranged them in order of preference, although she did have some favorites. But she wanted his honest opinion, first.

He read through the whole list silently. “Huh.”

“So?” she asked, when that seemed to be all he was going to say.

“You're right – some of these don't look too bad,” he said. “I'm glad they're pretty much all in English-speaking countries, I have to say.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Otherwise I feel like we'd spend the whole time learning the language well enough to live, right as we get to move again.”

“Exactly.” He scrolled through the document again. “I'm hoping you don't hate the idea of Jamaica or New Zealand, because those are my top two. And South Africa might be all right, too.”

Liz smiled. “New Zealand and South Africa were my highest preferences.”

“So, New Zealand it is,” said Ressler, with a brief smile. “It's supposed to be beautiful there, right?”

She nodded. “And it sounds like the job possibilities are okay.”

Then he smirked suddenly, and if there was still a shadow of grief in his voice when he spoke, it was still a worthy effort. “Hey, isn't New Zealand also where they filmed the _Lord of the Rings_ movies?”

“I think so,” she said. Then she saw his raised eyebrow, followed his train of thought, and snorted. “Good point. Maybe I should focus on hoarding treasure, instead of dividing my time between a job and taking down the Cabal. I'm sure a bed of gold coins would be really comfortable.”

Though she knew from personal experience that her partner would still be grieving for a long while yet, she was glad they could still make each other laugh, in spite of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We hope you enjoyed this story. We have more in the works.


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